


If the Bears Don't Get You, He Will

by ImaniJoain



Series: A New Way [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Boba and Fennec are the best buddy cop movie, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: Boba Fett never expected to take on a partner, much less one he could trust. He would do anything for her - including dubious kidnapping of an ex-Imperial research scientist and his unlicensed nurse. Fixing Fennec requires new parts and a skilled hand. Fixing Boba is a little more complicated.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Fennec Shand, Boba Fett/ OC
Series: A New Way [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218842
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	1. I Did My First Bare-Handed Strangulation Here

Boba powered down _Slave I_ over a mile from the crik-hole city where his quarry was living. He snorted to himself as he chose his weapons and set the ground security for his ship. Calling it a city was being generous. Ten thousand or so inhabitants crushed into the few structures that were still habitable after the New Republic had shelled the planet for weeks during the war. By all accounts, a token relief effort had been sent after the Empire was defeated, but what few supplies actually made it to the surface had been quickly been snatched up by local criminals, remnants of the Imperial occupation, and anyone desperate enough to go against one of the former. Calling it a city was _extremely_ generous.

So was calling it a crik-hole.

It wasn’t the worst place Boba had ever been and he was sure that he would see more of the same in his future, but something about having a relatively safe base of operations with a trusted partner to return to made him more annoyed than usual with the task ahead. He would complete it regardless. He had to. Fennec was having trouble with some of her implants – more technical than Boba could deal with. He needed the surgeon he had purchased the parts from to come back to Tatooine and diagnose the problem. And then fix it. Boba did not have a lot of people he trusted. Fennec. Maybe Din Djarin. He wasn’t going to let one of them die for lack of medical care if he could help it.

Kidnapping a surgeon was a hell of a lot less work than training a new partner and then having to be constantly guarding himself against a vibroblade in his back.

The walk through the muddy, outlying swamp was only slightly less irritating than skirting around the bombed out buildings, gutted alleyways, and patchwork shacks in the city. The incessant, humid rain did not make things any better. It soaked into his cape and his _kute_ and ran down the back of his neck. Under all that water, the cold seeped into his bones. It reminded Boba forcefully of every injury, every broken bone and dislocated joint he had ever sustained. By the time he had reached his quarry’s address, Boba wanted to shoot someone just to make himself feel better. He glanced up at the sign for the clinic and smiled ferally under his helmet as the sound of shouting and breaking furniture reached his ears. Given the volume, he might have a genuine reason for shooting someone.

Not that he needed one.

Boba strode straight through the front doors, blaster drawn.

“-heinous schutta!” A thin man, middle-aged by the gray in his hair, slapped a woman across the face. He was spitting mad, his face red and his clothing in disarray as if he had been in the middle of dressing or undressing when the argument started. She didn’t fall, but her head snapped back and she bumped into the wall behind her. Heavy, weather-appropriate clothing cushioned her back and shoulders, but her head thunked loudly against the plaster.

“Sir, this is unnecessary. If you will-”

“And you!” The man swung on on a Kamionan in a blue smock. The doctor was older now, but it was definitely the same long-necked scientist turned physician that had sold Boba his extensive medical kit years prior. The human man continued yelling. “This is your fault! Your slut has been poisoning me! Did you give her the chemicals? Did you tell her how to-”

A blaster bolt to the temple stopped his rant abruptly. Boba was already cold and wet. He wasn’t going to waste more of his own valuable time on something so unprofitable. The dialogue had been uninspired too. The woman exhaled slowly, but did not move. The Kamionan blinked his large eyes.

“Mr. Fett. If you have come for a resupply, I must warn you that the local authorities have no doubt been summoned by my concerned neighbors.”

“Get your bag, Dr. Suffone. You are coming with me.”

“Is this an offer of employment, or a threat of capture?”

“That depends on you.”

“Doctor,” the woman began. Her words slurred slightly, and Boba noted that blood was dripping from a split lower lip that had already begun to swell. “Who is this?”

“An old acquaintance, Ms. Korden. Does your speeder have enough fuel to reach the next nearest city?”

The woman frowned, her dark eyes cutting to the body on the floor. Boba had the distinct impression that she would have liked to shoot the man herself. “It did. Before he lit it on fire.”

“Does anyone know he blamed you for his...condition?”

She shrugged, wincing and causing her lip to bleed further. “He was screaming ‘Korden, you ugly, poisoning whore’ as he shot the fuel tank and chased me here. So I’d say yes.” Her voice was low, smokey, and dripping with sarcasm.

“Do-”

“Fascinating.” Boba flatly cut into their conversation, almost amused that they had managed to ignore him for so long. Maybe with age he had lost some of his intimidating presence along with the cartilage in his left knee. “Another time. Doctor, you have fifteen minutes before employment turns into imprisonment.”

“The woman must come with us.”

“No.” Boba was not a taxi service.

“If she is left behind-”

“Dr. Suffone,” her eyes cut to Boba’s and she swallowed. Fine lines around her eyes tightened with distress. “I’ll be fine. You should worry more about yourself.” She didn’t display any other outward signs of fear, but Boba’s sensors alerted him that her heartrate and temperature had increased. She was afraid. _Smarter than the loudmouth on the floor, at least._

The doctor ignored her. “Mr. Fett, this man you have shot is part of the local constabulary along with the other Imperial-sympathizers and ex-stormtroopers on the planet. His associates will not allow her to live when his body is found.”

“Not my problem.”

“She has acted as my nurse for many months and comported herself well.”

“Don’t need a nurse. You have fourteen minutes.”

“I am certain a man of your intellect can find other uses for her.”

“Doctor!” She showed strong emotion for the first time since Boba had arrived. He noted that it was at a potential insult – not at being beaten or having her life threatened. She was old enough not to be naive, but she still had some fire in her. Perhaps she might be interesting to have around. If Fennec didn’t want her, he could always send her packing to Mos Pelgo. If the desert didn’t kill her, she could probably find work there.

“I would consider it a personal favor, Mr. Fett.”

Boba did like being owed. He checked the HUD display in his helmet. A call had been put in to the local law enforcement, but their communications were bogged down with a report of a domestic disturbance on the other side of town. There was mention of a fire. The woman certainly knew how to piss people off. Boba was fairly good at that himself.

“I will collect on that. Both of you, get moving. You have twelve minutes.” He had no compunction in listening in on a short, heated conversation between the doctor and his assistant before the woman disappeared into a back room. The doctor swept aside a curtain to reveal an exam area and a pharmacy dispensary. He packed a medical bag and then emptied most of the drugs and rarer supplies into a modest cargo container. Boba judged they had five minutes left when the doctor had finished. The woman had not yet returned. She was...different. In Boba’s experience even medical professionals tended to be shaken after a beating. This one was steady and reasonable. Unexpected. Boba worked hard to avoid the unexpected.

“Acted,” He said abruptly, his modulator crackling in the quiet room. “You said _acted_ as your nurse.”

“She lied to gain employment.” The Kamionan spoke in a flat tone particular to his species, making it difficult to judge his emotional state – assuming he had any. “But she has comported herself well.”

“Why lie?”

“I believe it had something to do with the body on my floor. I did not inquire.”

“Why owe me for her?”

Large, wet eyes blinked. White pupils dilated briefly. “Like you, Mr. Fett, I have done many things most sentient creatures would consider immoral. Some things terrible. Unthinkable. Monstrous. Not all of them solely at the behest of the Empire. I do not have regrets, Mr. Fett. However, for reasons I do not wish to share, I believe I would regret Ms. Korden’s death if I could prevent it.”

 _Interesting_. Perhaps he would give her a canteen if he sent her walking to Mos Pelgo. She glided back into the room then, chest heaving and cheeks dark from exertion.

“Your things, Dr. Suffone.” She held out a slim bag, which the Kamionan hung over his shoulder. He then pulled a long, waterproof cloak from a hook near the door while the woman stacked his medical bag onto the crate and hefted both. She already had another pack on her back, over her heavy clothes. Boba wondered how long she would make it before she asked for help in carrying her load. She would be wasting her breath, but he still wondered.

They made an odd caravan as they left the city. Boba led the way, taking a different path than the one he had come in by and adding another kilometer to the journey. The woman did not complain, although she was breathing loudly before they had reached the swamp. Neither she nor the doctor took any notice of the three near misses with armed men that Boba managed to circumvent. They did notice the five men on speeders fanned out around _Slave I_ when they arrived at the ship. Boba didn’t break his stride but instead picked up his pace into a sprint as he left the swamp for the dry landing area. He activated his remote turret. It took out three of the would-be attackers and he hit one more with his blaster. The last one he caught with the heavy end of his gaderffii. Mandible and skull shattered and sprayed against the ship’s hull along with a splatter of flesh and tissue.

Boba hit the controls on his vambrace to disarm his security and lower the ramp. He turned to see the woman stepping out of the swamp first, keeping the doctor behind her as if she could protect him. Boba gave in to the urge to snort. _How ridiculous._

“Get in and strap in. Take off in three minutes. If you are still on the ground when I leave, I’ll shoot you.”

Both passengers were on board, their cargo stored, with one minute to spare.


	2. Not A Very Good Damsel In A Dress

“Who is he?” Esseme kept her voice quiet even through they were alone in the lower hull. The big man with the helmet had not invited them into the cockpit, and she was smart enough to realize that an invitation was definitely required.

“A bounty hunter,” Dr. Suffone answered in his usual monotone. He had leaned his head back against the hull and closed his eyes. “He bought an impressive array of medical supplies from me some time ago – before the Battle of Yavin, I believe.”

“Weren’t you still with the Empire then?”

“I had just terminated my contract with them. Mr. Fett paid a handsome price. He financed my first clinic. And the two after that.”

So. A bounty hunter, old enough to have been working more than a decade ago, and rich enough to make her capitalist-minded Kamionan employer think nothing of leaving his lucrative Imperial practice and private lab behind. And he couldn’t be a complete waste of oxygen – Suffone would have left her back in the swamp if he believed this Fett would abuse her more than was strictly necessary. She would bet that he wouldn’t kill or rape her, which was certainly better than the future that had awaited her at the clinic with a dead man on the floor and the not-so-closet bucketheads that would have arrived soon after.

And he had killed Jarwin. Esseme had wanted to do it herself – to see the light fading from his eyes and to whisper in his ear why he was dying, but watching Fett’s blaster bolt sear through skin and bone and brain and drop Jarwin like a sack of crik had been satisfying. For that alone, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Where is he taking us?”

“I have no idea, Ms. Korden. Do cease speaking now. I wish to rest. Wake me when we exit hyperspace.”

Esseme did as she was asked, used to Suffone’s blunt manner. He did not intend to be rude. It was a combination of deserved professional arrogance, his culture, and the tight-lipped secrecy that had kept him alive even after leaving his Imperial employers. Once they were in hyperspace, and the bounty hunter did not descend from the cockpit, Esseme made use of the fresher. She cleaned up the blood on her face as best she could and applied a small amount of bacta to her swollen eye. She didn’t want to waste their supplies, not knowing what was ahead of them, but at least she would be able to see properly in a few hours. There wasn’t much to do after that. She took inventory of what Suffone had packed from the pharmacy, better folded and organized her own hasty bag of clothing and effects, then did the same for the doctor’s. After several hours in hyperspace, she decided that there was duly appropriate caution and then there was acting like a frightened womp rat. Esseme was no rodent. She approached the ladder to the cockpit and took a moment to familiarize herself with the control panel at the bottom.

“Excuse me, Mr. Fett,” she spoke into the intercom. “Will we be arriving at our destination soon, or should I prepare a place for Dr. Suffone to sleep?” There was a long pause. Long enough that Esseme turned away, assuming that he would not answer.

“Come up.”

Her arm was sore where Jarwin had grabbed her outside the clinic, making the climb uncomfortable, but it was not far. At the top she found the cockpit to be a surprisingly open space – for a starship. There were three seats, the center one dominated by the bounty hunter. His green, scuffed armor did not hide the muscular bulk of him or the hard, considering stare she knew was behind his visor. She had a feeling she was being measured, stripped down to her component parts and examined. Esseme wondered if she would be found wanting, or worth putting back together.

“What are your skills?”

“I’ve been a nurse for-”

“Woman.” The technology in his helmet cracked with the deep boom of that one word. Esseme shivered, but clenched her jaw to keep it from showing. “I will make one allowance and ask you again. Do not lie to me. What. Are. Your. Skills.” His palms remained flat on his thighs, but she did believe – by his tone and the easy way he had shot Jarwin and killed the constables – that he would have no trouble ensuring that any words he didn’t like would be her last.

“I have learned quite a bit about nursing,” she explained carefully, “although I have no formal training. I can deal with superficial injuries myself and have performed several minor procedures under Dr. Suffone’s supervision. I have assisted him in surgery, but I do not understand any of his laboratory work.”

He grunted, leaning back a bit in his chair. He motioned with one hand for her to go on.

“I am good at organizing things. Inventory, supplies, arranging delivery. Scheduling and hiring, that sort. I speak droid. And enough Hapan to order food. Poorly.”

“Do you have any combat training?”

Esseme couldn’t help but snort. “Mr. Fett, if I knew how to use a blaster Jarwin would have been dead long before you ever came to the clinic.”

“Fett.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“Just Fett,” he clarified.

“Well, Just Fett, I’m Esseme Korden. Where are we headed?”

“Tattooine.”

“And will we be arriving there soon?”

“Five hours.” He turned his seat around to face the blue-white glow of hyperspace, clearly dismissing her.

The man was certainly succinct. Esseme found it easy to ignore the voice of reason that she had been suborning for the last eight months in order to seek revenge.

“And will you be shooting anyone in the head when we get there?”

“If I am lucky.”

Esseme let out a surprised huff of amusement. It had been ages since she had laughed. How odd to find out she could still do so because of a cold-blooded killer.


	3. Eureka, Motherkriffers!

“What do you expect me to do with her?”

Fennec Shand eyed the rather plain looking woman with distaste. Not for the woman herself, she seemed...not particularly devious or blood-thirsty, but rather boring. A bit homely, maybe. Her clothes were serviceable and well-cared for but thick and far too heavy for Tattooine’s weather. She was tall for a woman, taller than Fennec by several inches although still shorter than Boba. Her skin was a dark nutty color, her hair black and curling so tightly against her head it looked like it was trying to burrow back into her scalp. She was either heavyset or at least thick in the chest and hips. There was nothing at all remarkable about her except for an upper lip that was fuller than the lower and her eyes. Fennec took a moment to stare into the woman’s eyes. They were hard. Knowing. Determined. Fennec knew eyes like that. She saw eyes like that in her own reflection.

“Find something for her to do. Keep her busy when Suffone doesn’t need her.”

“Busy with what?” Fennec asked more to see what Boba had in mind than because she needed direction. Privately, she was wondering if she could train the woman to be a spy. If she had any sort of skill with combat or tech, her plain face and boring body would make her a worthwhile asset to Boba’s enterprise.

Boba gave an irritated shrug, already walking away from the hangar where _Slave I_ had landed. “Put her in the kitchens. She can’t make the food any worse.”

_True, but short-sided and a waste of potential talent._ The food served at the palace was edible, at best, and at worst, late, foul-smelling, and somehow both over- and under-cooked at the same time. The only thing going for it was that there was plenty – for those who were willing to risk eating it. She and Boba had been living mostly on caf and ration bars. Fennec stared down the woman, holding a sizeable weight of supplies without complaint, and the slender Kamionan beside her.

“Follow.” She turned on her heel and led the way down into cooler passages. It was still early morning on Tattooine, so there was a chill inside the thick durasteel reinforced adobe walls. Fennec’s skin pulled in discomfort as her mechanical parts adjusted to the change in temperature. Neither of the newcomers spoke to her, although the doctor did give a few instructions to the woman on which of his tools and equipment he would need first. Fennec wondered if her ability to keep a lid on her curiosity and follow orders was due to a lack of intelligence of an abundance of it.

She opened the doors to the infirmary and waved them in with one arm. The cleaning droids had done a good job getting it ready. Every surface gleamed under the cold, bright lights.

“Korden.”

“Ms. Shand.”

Fennec smirked. “Just Shand is fine.” A grin flashed on the woman’s face and for a brief moment she was transformed into something almost lovely, but more than that – something interesting. Fennec held back a grin. Working for Boba paid well, offered job security, and it was nice to have someone she trusted at her back – but now that the palace was under tight control it often lacked for excitement. Esseme Korden might offer something to relieve that dullness. “When you’re done here, press the intercom and ask for Nys. He’ll take you to the kitchens.”

“I am not much of a cook,” the woman offered honestly. It was refreshing.

“We have cooks. We just need them fixed.”

“Fixed? Are they droids?”

“No.” Fennec didn’t elaborate. She had offered to Boba to shoot one or two of the kitchen help to see if that motivated them to make something edible, but he hadn’t been concerned enough to justify wasting the ammunition. “That’s your first job. Fix the kitchen.” She walked away, leaving Korden frowning behind her.

“Shand?”

Fennec turned to see the woman with her hand on the door, preventing it from closing.

“Are there any restrictions on how I get this task accomplished?”

She offered Korden a smile that had sent lesser beings running away with soiled pants. “Any means necessary.”

The other woman smiled back with her own precisely bared teeth.

_Oh_. Fennec _liked_ this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Fennec need a girlfriend? Need is a strong word, but she definitely deserves one. Platonic or no.


	4. A Late Afternoon Triscuit

“Is that going to be a problem?” Boba kept his voice low in an effort to keep his conversation with Fennec private. It wasn’t too difficult. The throne room had been built with acoustics in mind, and his helmet prevented anyone from reading his lips. Fennec tucked one palm under her chin, her fingers tapping against her mouth to conceal her own words.

“That remains to be seen. I’d give it another four hours.”

“What happens in four hours?” Boba watched two bounty hunters who looked ready to draw blasters over a jug of ale. Several traders in the corner were looking irritable, and a small knot of palace guards and workers were clustered around the long table where food was usually set out. Boba didn’t want to know what was there. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he had said the woman couldn’t make meals worse. Boba had eaten better food when a Hutt was in charge – and they liked their nutrients still squirming.

“Supper.”

He could feel Fennec’s amusement. Boba sighed, but still felt a small smile twitch at his lips.

“And what happens at supper?”

“Generally, sentient beings eat, Boba. I know you have been out of society for a while, but I think this is common knowledge.”

Fine, he could let her have her joke.

“How is the woman working out?”

“Which one? We have multiple females, multiple human females working here.”

Boba narrowed his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Fennec.”

“It remains to be seen. I’d give it another four hours,” she repeated.

Boba gave up trying to get information out of Fennec that she did not want to share and turned back to the business at hand. Another trader had arrived with a request to do business on Tattooine, and he had come to Boba for permission. He was smarter than the Femorian currently moaning in the pit under the throne room.

Four hours came and went and Boba broke off listening to the leader of the local moisture farm cooperative make excuses about poor harvests. The general ill-behaved rabble in the back of the throne room was getting worse. He tipped his helmet to look at Fennec. She had one hand on her blaster, but had not yet drawn. In the absence of food, several hunters and a few off duty guards had turned to heavy drinking and some gambling to pass the time. Boba could have cared less how drunk they got if they hadn’t also drawn a few traders into their game. At least two hunters were cheating, one of the twi-lekk women that came with the traders was in danger of being sold off over a hand of sabacc, and a scuffle had broken out between several others. His own stomach was beginning to rumble, and he was reminded it had been hours since he had scarfed down a ration bar and a cup of caf when he arrived on planet that morning.

Boba was tempted to throw the lot of them outside and retire to his quarters where he could eat in peace and perhaps play a game of sabacc with Fennec when the guard at the lower entrance to the throne room stood at attention. Fennec strode away to see to the commotion and Boba was left with the simpering farmer and his own curiosity. He was preparing to dial up the sensitivity of his helmet so he could listen in on his partner’s conversation when she returned. The woman followed her carrying a heavy tray.

Boba tipped his head, cataloging the changes in her appearance. She was still wearing her cold weather clothes, although she had removed her heavy cloak and outer tunic at some point. It did leave him with a much better impression of her figure. It was generous. Boba hadn’t seen curves like that outside of a brothel in years. Although, now that he was considering her, he hadn’t been inside a brothel in years either so maybe so much round flesh was more commonplace now. Her face was still bruised, her mouth swollen on one side giving her a slightly cracked expression. She had done something to her hair to make it less...unattractive. The knotted kinks had relaxed into tight curls which fell away from her face in a wild halo. The front part was held back by something, but the rest looked like silky black springs that begged to have fingers thrust into them.

Boba hadn’t thrust his fingers into anything in years either.

“Where would you like to eat, Just Fett?” Her smokey voice was a little breathless, as if she had jogged all the way from the kitchen to the throne room carrying the tray. Boba took stock of the dishes, ignoring her poke at his name. It was simple fare, soup and flatbread and pickled vegetables, but nothing was squirming and more importantly, it all appeared edible. The flatware was even clean. The corners of her mouth were pinched, as if she was holding back a smile. When he didn’t immediately answer, she turned her gaze to his partner. “Shand?”

“We usually take our meals in Boba’s quarters. Is that acceptable, _Just_ Fett?”

Dark eyes, wide and framed by the thickest lashes he had ever seen on a woman, met his gaze.

“Do as Fennec says.”

Korden nodded, then paused next to Fennec, frowning back at the leader of the cooperative. Boba realized with a start that he had no idea what the man had been saying – and he was still droning on. She dipped her head to whisper in Fennec’s ear.

“Just so you know, the farmer who made the deliveries this morning is from the North Ridge area. He told me they were experiencing record harvests.” She walked gracefully down off the dais without a backward glance. Fennec raised a single eyebrow at Boba.

“Tell me,” he interrupted the co-op representative. The man swallowed nervously. Sweat ran down the edge of his hairline, despite the cool air in the palace. Boba had known from the beginning that he was lying about something, but now he had proof. “Where have you been sending the record harvests from the North Ridge, since nothing has come to my hands?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who hasn't imagined a bit more freedom in retirement? Maybe a second career that allows for creativity, some travel, co-workers of choice, and a home/work situation? If you get to shoot someone every once in a while, that just keeps things interesting.
> 
> Oh, was that just Boba and Fennec? Not you? Nevermind then.


End file.
